I Did Not Ask for This
by Tobiume
Summary: Ros and Daisy wait in Joffrey's room before the events in "Garden of Bones".


A/N: Rating for language, dark themes.

I like Ros. Poor Ros.

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**_I Did Not Ask for This_**

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The king's chamber is overly ornate. It's dark, and the furniture is heavy and seems ill-suited to a king who is after all, still a boy. But Ros has heard the gossip and rumors, most lately the news that it was _he _who ordered the late king's bastards murdered, and reflects that perhaps this aggressively opulent chamber is fitting, after all.

The air is heavy with something Ros cannot name. She does not wish to be here, waiting to please the king. Daisy doesn't mind. Daisy is gazing in wide-eyed wonder at the furnishings, fingering the expensive fruit in the bowl on the table. Her fingers linger on an apple, and Ros admires the way Daisy can make even a simple gesture erotic, without seeming to realize what she's doing. Ros' skills are an art she's practiced: she's learned to stroke a cock just as she learned to arrange her wild curls in a pleasing manner. But Daisy's sweetly seductive ways are effortless. If only she wouldn't gape so.

"Don't touch anything," Ros warns as Daisy reaches a finger out to brush the antler topping a carved scepter. The late king was boisterous and enjoyed his whores, handed them his jewels to hold and praise, but Ros suspects the slightest misplacement of a possession would anger King Joffrey. She doesn't explain this to Daisy, who pays little attention to gossip. She is childishly naïve, for a whore, and Ros doubts that she knows what the king is truly like, although the Hand did warn them he could be cruel.

The Hand chose Daisy first. Ros remembers Daisy telling them how the dwarf caught her in bed with the Grand Maester when arresting him and paid her double instead of arresting her. She wonders if he remembers Daisy's tits, her discretion, or her sweet, round features. He lingered over the others, studying their figures, then their faces, but after a brief word with Lord Baelish, he finally settled on Ros.

She couldn't decide if he remembered her or not. Ros thought there was some recognition in his eyes, but it had been rather a long time since he'd tumbled her in the inn, back when he was just Lord Tyrion and she was just another whore. That had been quite an afternoon, she remembered, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he had forgotten about her, once the other girls had come in. Besides, she fancied she was prettier now.

At first she thought Lord Tyrion was choosing whores for himself, and she was disappointed when he dismissed the other girls and explained the reason for his visit.

"My nephew the king has some pent-up frustrations that need relieving. I think it's time he had a woman, or two, if he so desires. Littlefinger says that the two of you work well together." He winks at them. "Would you do me the honor of attending him?" Although he phrases it as if they have a choice, Ros knows what will happen if she refuses. Lord Baelish's delicate threat is still sharp in her mind.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors about my nephew," Tyrion continued, pouring himself wine. "He's an ignorant, mean-spirited little cunt. He may humiliate you, be rough with you. Indulge him. You'll be paid handsomely for doing so."

Ros has dealt with rough men before. The innkeeper back in Winterfell couldn't get hard unless he took a belt to her. Most of her patrons lately have been unimaginative men who do nothing worse than slap her arse, but if the rumors about King Joffrey have any truth to them, she'd almost rather be back in the boring Northern backwater tavern than have anything to do with him. Almost.

Ros prefers some patrons to others, of course. Older men are kind, but their wits wander. She'd been stuck listening to the old Maester for nearly an hour, once. But still, she'd choose ten old men over the boy-king who sent his knights to slaughter babies in their mother's arms. The Hand, now, he was quite a roll. His cock lacked nothing in size, and he was generous. He made her laugh, Ros remembers. Some mock his small stature, but Ros minds not at all. She's remembered, though, that he has his own whore now, a girl who sleeps in his chambers.

"He loves her," Armeca sniggered to Ros when the topic came up a few nights ago. Ros thought it sweet, that a lord would love a prostitute. It must be nice to be loved, cossetted, to only have to bed one man.

It isn't that she minds bedding many different men; after all, that is her job, and for the most part, she takes pleasure in her work. (Ros enjoys the act of love. She especially likes when men request two girls, wanting to watch them fuck each other. Ros likes soft tits with nipples that harden under her tongue and warm holes that tighten around her fingers just as much as she enjoys a hard cock thrusting into her, filling her.)

Her work isn't as easy as she imagined it to be, especially not lately. She still wakes shaking some nights, and the strain of forced cheerfulness is wearing on her. But there are far worse jobs. There are far worse whorehouses. She hasn't had any cruel patrons, and she eats well, wears garments finer than any she'd seen in Winterfell, and sleeps in a bed softer than she'd ever imagined.

But still, Ros does not wish to fuck the king. A week ago, she would have laughed at the long fingers of nerves reaching up from the pit of her stomach. But now, she's quite unsettled. She knows the world is a dark place. Children fall from towers, kings kill babies, and men beat their whores, their daughters, their wives. And that's in civilized lands. But the grimness seems to be filtering through more cracks lately. Drops of darkness have increased to a trickle, and no amount of perfume, silks, or gold can soothe her unease. And she rarely leaves the brothel. She doesn't want to think about the city outside.

"What do you think His Grace will be like?" Daisy asks, tossing an apple from hand to hand. Her curls have tumbled over her shoulder. She settles on the bed with her apple, stroking the fine fabric of the coverings. "Imagine! I never thought I'd bed a king."

"Did you listen to the Hand? He's cruel. He'll likely hit us. Finish on our faces. Fuck us hard." Ros suddenly feels like being blunt. Daisy's wide-eyed awe is irritating her.

Daisy laughs. "He's a boy. How rough could he be?" Her brows furrow briefly and her face is suddenly sober. "I've had worse. Haven't you?"

Ros lifts one shoulder, neither confirming nor denying Daisy's assumption. She likely has.

"Besides, if he's never had a woman before, I'm sure he won't be too inventive." Daisy kicks her heels.

Ros snorts. "The Hand was generous, at least. Even after Lord Baelish's portion, it's twice our usual cut."

"I think I'd like a new gown," Daisy says pensively. "And I'll send half to my sister. She's just had a child. I suppose she won't have anything to say about where I get my money when she hears it's from the king himself."

"Do you miss your home?" Ros asks. Although she doesn't exactly miss Winterfell, there are days when the city air makes her ill, and she longs for the cold, quiet forest.

"Not in the least," Daisy sniffs. "It was boring. There's so much more excitement here. And my sister doesn't like me lifting my skirts, although she's not too proud to take my money."

"Excitement? Is that what you call it?" Daisy was in the room, too, when the soldiers came, but she doesn't seem nearly as affected as Ros.

Daisy shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about that." She knows exactly what Ros means, but it seems that she deals with unpleasantness by avoiding it. She was very quiet the day after, Ros remembers, which was quite a change. But the following day, she seemed to have completely recovered, if her chatter was any sign.

"I wonder if he'll make us fuck," Daisy takes a bite of her apple.

Ros looks at her, startled. "Do you like that?"

"When you do it. Armeca's nails are too long. She's not a good man, either. You actually enjoy playing the man, don't you?"

"It's well enough," Ros says with a laugh.

"I wouldn't want to be a man." Daisy licks juice from her lip, and Ros feels a twitch from her groin. "I like being fucked."

"A woman can do the fucking, too, you know."

"Yes, but men don't want me to fuck them. They always want to fuck me."

"Well, maybe the king will want you to fuck him."

"I'll suck his cock," Daisy says. "I'm good at that."

"We're all good at that, or we wouldn't be here." Ros reminds her, and Daisy giggles.

The mood has lightened somewhat, and Ros reflects that perhaps there is something to be said for willful unconcern. It's easier, certainly, to spread her lips into a welcoming smile when she hears footsteps beyond the door.

King Joffrey steps in, looking confused at their presence.

"Your Grace!" Daisy has just taken another bite of her apple, but that doesn't stop her from exclaiming excitedly at the king's entrance.

"Happy name day, Your Grace," Ros greets him. He's just another patron. He's young, but not as young as some of the boys who'd stumbled into her bed in Winterfell, purchasing her time and the right to call themselves men.

"My name day has passed," the king says. She finds it odd that he'd react so, upon finding two whores in his chamber. He's carrying a crossbow, and she tries not to wonder what he's been doing. He isn't dressed for a hunt.

She reaches out to stroke his thigh, smiling. "We won't tell if you won't." Her usual coyness comes easily, now. No matter what she's heard of him, no matter how well she knows that a handsome face does not mean a matching heart, this young man in front of her doesn't exactly frighten her.

He pushes her away. "No. Her. Touch her." _Ah_, Ros thinks. _This is how it will go._

Ros is smiling as she walks to the bed. Daisy stands, and Ros helps her out of her dress, then leans in to kiss her belly. She hears the king's breathing quicken, and she brings her mouth lower, between Daisy's legs. She smells of rose water, and faintly of sex. Ros wants to push her back on the bed, spread her legs, and taste her, but the king is speaking again.

"Could you hit her?"

Ros half-smiles at Daisy. _See, I told you._

Daisy returns Ros' smile knowingly and climbs down, leaning over the bed and presenting her arse to Ros, who brings back her hand for a light swat.

The king doesn't even seem to want them to touch him. If all he wants to do is watch, this may not be too awful after all.

**_Fin._**


End file.
